


Shadows and Light

by duckcrab



Category: Inception (2010)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-07-24
Updated: 2010-07-24
Packaged: 2017-11-20 16:04:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 941
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/587190
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/duckcrab/pseuds/duckcrab
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Title: Shadows and Light<br/>Fandom: Inception<br/>Summary: Ariadne and Arthur are alone in the warehouse, or so they think.<br/>Pairing: Ariadne/Arthur<br/>Rating: R or NC17-I really don't know how these ratings work.<br/>Notes: <a href="http://community.livejournal.com/inception_kink/756.html?thread=630516#t630516">inception_kink prompt</a>: ...something simple and smutty. Arthur and Ariadne (after a series of awkward circumstances) get it on on one of the tables. Eames catches them, but watches silently from afar, then decides not to burst in.<br/></p>
            </blockquote>





	Shadows and Light

It is past midnight when Arthur packs up to leave. Cobb left hours ago, Saito close behind. Yusuf and Eames had been talking about a drinking establishment they both particularly appreciated as they walked out the door, and he would probably be correct if he assumed that they were getting thoroughly soused at the moment. The only one he can’t remember leaving is Ariadne, and he would have noticed.

Her light is on, and he can see her moving, sees her head tilting to one side. He shuts off his own light, and finds himself being drawn towards hers.

Her back is towards him, feet on the uppermost rung of the stool, hair held into a bun by two sharpened pencils.

“All work and no play…” he says, and she startles, knocking her coffee over onto blueprints and models.

“Shit,” they say at the same time, scurrying to right everything. He sets the coffee cup upright, plastic lid still intact save for the last few drops of light brown liquid. Here he takes the time to mentally note that she uses creamer in her coffee.

“It’s alright,” she says over her shoulder as she shakes out pieces of soaked paper, lays it flat on another table to dry.

“Oh—Uh—you’ve got a little—” he points out the coffee soaking into her pant leg.

Her head falls back, and she growls at the ceiling.

“I’m sorry,” he says.

“Oh—that wasn’t directed at you,” she says, head snapping back up and eyes meeting his. “I’m just…”

He shrugs, smiles.

“I know, but I thought I should say it anyway.”

He steps out to find a washcloth while she clears the rest of the table.

“It’s quiet,” she says as he starts to wipe the table down. Both of her hands are full of papers, she taps them on the desk a couple of times vertically then turns them horizontally and repeats the process. “Has everyone left?”

“It’s just us,” he says. He’d meant it to be lighthearted, quick, offhand, but it came out thicker, like some sort of proposition. He shakes his head, continues to clean.

“There,” he says when he’s done. He turns to her and she nods in approval before a frown creases her brow.

“You have coffee on your shirt,” she says. He looks down and sure enough there is a smattering of brown spots around his midsection.

“Here,” she says, plucking the washcloth from his hand. Her fingers slide in between the gaps in the buttons, and brush against his stomach as she tries to clean him up. He tries not to let it affect him, her closeness. He finds the die in his left pocket, turns it over and over and over.

His other hand has begun to work independently from his brain. He can’t stop himself. He cups her elbow, draws his fingers up until they circle her wrist. He has taken notice of the change in her breathing pattern; short, shallow breaths now. Her pulse has quickened under his fingers.

“I’m going to kiss you,” he says.

Her eyes are focused on his lips.

“Yeah,” she says. “Alright.”

 

 

 

Eames flicks the gambling chip into the air with his thumb, catches it, and flicks it again.

He hasn’t stepped more than one foot inside the warehouse when he hears it, those unmistakable sounds: gasping, moaning; sounds he knows all too well.

“Ah-Arthur…Je _sus_!”

Eames’ curiosity is further piqued by this turn of events. He inclines his head to the side, favors his keenest ear and lets it guide him to the corner of the warehouse.

Arthur and the architect. Ariadne.

 _Fascinating_.

He stands in the dark so as not to be seen unless there is a sudden flooding of light (which there won’t be) and finds a space where he can observe unnoticed, see if his assumptions are correct.

And they are. _Of course they are_.

Arthur’s got the architect on her back, spread out lengthwise on the table with his head between her bare legs. Ariadne’s top is askew, one arm in, one arm out, bra missing. Her left leg is bent, foot curled around the ledge of the table, arch pressing back hard on it; the other leg is over Arthur’s shoulder, heel digging into his back. Arthur has his shirt unbuttoned, and his pants are open but remain on his hips. He reaches up with one hand to palm a breast while the other works her closer and closer to a climax.

 _Won’t be long now_ , Eames thinks. Every woman is different, but in some ways they are the same: hips tipping up, breathing intensifying. _Not long at all_.

He is a little disappointed that he’s come in on the finale when he might have liked to see the whole show. He hates knowing the end of things before he knows the beginning. Ruins some things. This kind of thing is rather predictable, but the sentiment still stands.

Seconds later the tension in the room snaps. Ariadne draws in short, stuttering breaths, tries to move but can’t. Arthur fits his hips between her thighs, leans over and kisses her. She accepts him, kisses back, runs her hands through his hair.

It would be a perfect time to make himself known, embarrass the hell out of them, maybe even use it as a bargaining tool later when he wants something that only one of them can give him.

But he doesn’t do any of this. He leaves before he can be caught, wearing a little smile on his face and has no recollection of why he came back in the first place.


End file.
